


Kind is Dionysus

by Random_ag



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: I guess???, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: For he is alone, and in those alone he finds his love.
Kudos: 2





	Kind is Dionysus

At the table of Olympus sits Dionysus in the furthest corner, eyes half closed, a cup filled to the brim held absentmindedly in his hand. Nobody cares for him.

No god lays their gaze upon him; they drink of his labour and laugh aloud at the madness it brings. They disturb his would-be slumber with deafening guffaws from afar.

Dionysus was born with little horns like those of a goat. When he was found, they had curved much akin to the ram’s, and his ears resembled those of leopards.

They say he was born - they do not say of whom, as if to spare his parents’ dignity from the embarrassment of having the world know it was them who conceived him.

He slips away from the ones who claim him as family as he often does: barely noticed he descends to rocky shores and loveless forests where no one shall search him.

Lays on overgrown grass the skittish god. As his eyes close, beckoning Hypnos closer, a voice stirs them open once again: oh my lord, it says, you’ve come for me.

It is a young meanad: her body that of a skeleton, her hair tangled in knots. Oh my lord, she whispers, crawling closer, hands outstretched, you’ve come for me.

Something in the deity’s stare she did not expect - a loneliness, a tiredness, a wish for silence. Dionysus embraces her, holds her to his chest, leaves her dress untouched.

He brings her to lay with him, and still he remains. She begs for clarity, but he merely hushes her, gently. He closes his eyes; his immortal heart beats slowly.

His hand brushes through her hair. Do not forsake yourself, he mutters, and his voice is in her ear: honor me if you must by loving yourself, deeply, passionately.

Where he touches warmth and vines bloom. This is not what she was told: she was told, when he shall touch you, it shall scorch and make you cry out in delight.

She listens to the immortal heart, to how it beats as if it had died once already. There is no flame, there is no scream. The forest crackles around them with no fury.

Do not let yourself be left, her god murmurs. Do not let yourself be abandoned. It will do you no good, he murmurs, to let yourself strand in vices and thoughts.

Is this truly her god? He is so quiet. He is far from mad, far from intoxicated. Could this truly be her god? He asked nothing of her but to take care of herself.

Hypnos, calls the skittish god, please, bring small Airene to us. Hypnos, calls the skittish god, please, grant us a little rest, to escape this too noisy and too bright world.

Kind is Dionysus; for he sleeps without thoughts, holding those who wish to be held. Kind is Dionysus; for he is alone, and in those alone he finds his love.


End file.
